


Fall For You

by facade



Category: Football RPF
Genre: ((Please don't steal my poetry)), Archangels, Biblical AU, Biblical References, Condemning Myself to Hell for Sam, Culés (The First Fallen), Fallen Angels, Guardian Angels, Heaven and Chaos (Hell), If there is a God I'm definitely going to Hell for this, If there is a Hell, M/M, Multi, New World Translation, Paradise Lost references, Religion, Religious Content, Religious Philosophy, Suicide Attempt, The Book of Genesis - Freeform, The Great Deluge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shackles and chains for a moment on earth<br/>Lost wings, a lost Father for a piece of dirt<br/>Hell fire and damnation for a moment of weakness<br/>One touch, infected, a flood of tears to be rid the sickness</p><p>Earth lost. Dirt lost. Touch lost.<br/>Paradise lost... not with the touch<br/>but with the waters of a flood</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dirt and Rock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SamUYell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamUYell/gifts).



> I am going to be packing the shit out of this with disclaimers:
> 
> Religion: This is not intended to offend anyone who may hold particular religious beliefs. While I, personally, find the Bible to be a learning instrument intended to guide rather than instruct, I understand that others do not. I understand that some may hold the Bible as a truth while there are those, such as myself, who regard it as a pretty interesting story that grew in the passage of time. I am merely using an event within this book (whether it has been falsified or whether it be true) and surrounding it with inventions of my own mind (fictions, fabrications, and outright lies). 
> 
> Geology: no one knows what the landscape looked like prior to the flood (whether or not it had happened, a flood of that magnitude would have reshaped the land entirely) so I'm just using Ur as my setting (located at the site of modern Tell el-Muqayyar (Arabic: تل المقير) in south Iraq's Dhi Qar Governorate) and I don't care for geology lessons. 
> 
> Interpretations: Genesis 6:2 // (1) the “sons of the true God” were dynastic rulers and the scripture implicates royalty engaging with commoners (2) the “sons of the true God” were fallen angels who cohabited with humans to produce a hybrid race called “Nephilim” (3) the “sons of the true God” were of the godly line of Seth and were taking women for themselves from the ungodly line of Cain // I'm writing with the second interpretation. 
> 
> Besides the flood references and scriptures being used, everything within this is an outright lie and a product of my deluded mind so don't take it seriously. 
> 
> \-- The dialogue is pretentious as fuck but it gets lighter as the story progresses ((unless it's an angel speaking to another)) so there's that --

> Genesis 6:2 / "...then the sons of the [true] God began to notice the daughters of men, that they were good-looking; and they went taking wives for themselves, namely all whom they chose".

Marcelo was going on again, for what was probably the third or the fourth time between the hour when the Earth's star rises on the one side of Ur and when the Earth's star falls on the side opposite, and Cristiano wasn’t sure of how much longer his fellow angel would carry on. Already the masses below him, the dirt and the rock He had called 'land', were being painted in a silver hue by what He had called 'moonlight' and already, His favorite creatures were taking up refuge in their huts of mud and stone... "Why do you suppose they do that, Marcelo?" His question was more to himself, more of a whispered thought than anything else but already he could hear the other release an exasperated sigh.

"They're weird creatures, Cris," the angel sighed out simply, flicking the little flecks of that Earth from off of his robe as he cast his eyes down to the masses below. He was about to chew into his companion for not listening but as he opened his mouth to speak, he found the one that had been possessing his thoughts throughout the duration of the Earth's day. "Weird but such beautiful creatures. Look, right there," Marcelo demanded as he leaned over Cris, turning the chin of the other as he stretched his arm out, and pointed over the other angel's shoulder to a man drawing water from the well. "That's the one. Tell me, Cris," Marcelo continued, his voice just above a whisper as he was practically on top of the other, "have you ever seen anything so beautiful."

(I caught sight of my reflection once), he had wanted to say but he bit his tongue, not wanting to be regarded as haughty by Him. He studied the creature, the man further and knitted his brows together as he came to recognize the figure: James. He had heard Him say the name before, remembered when He was creating that creature, remembered seeing Him carve out his nose, eyes, mouth, and abdomen, his strong arms and his sturdy legs. "He is rather beautiful," and to say otherwise would have been a lie and Cristiano simply could not, "but your words sound dangerous, Marcelo. Your words, they sound like the words of the others, like the thinking of those fallen. You don’t want...? These things, these creatures they are dangerous and unruly and... You know this. Besides, those creatures, they are nothing but dirt and filth, nothing but earth, and we, we are not. We are..."

"I know what we are, Cris," Marcelo sighed out as he looked longingly at the creature below, smiling as he saw the man struggling in the most awkward of ways with his bucket of water, "and I know what they are. I can still look at them, I can still admire His work without having to touch it, can I not? ...Or is that another sin?"

Cristiano burst out laughing as the lightning flashed wildly around them in warning and tried to find whomever had been eavesdropping long enough to know to hurl lightning bolts in their direction. "You can't punish me for his blasphemy," Cristiano laughed out as he and Marcelo exchanged mischievous glances, his smile deepening as he made out the familiar figure standing still in the distance. "I'm sure He can take a joke, Iker," Cristiano sighed out dryly though the twinkle remained in his eyes, the corners of his lips still turned upwards. "He created you, didn’t He?"

Another bolt came flying at them, shattering the dense air around them as the two angels clung to one another for dear life though there were traces of a certain mischievous joy within their panic. "He may be able to take a joke, but Iker... He cannot," Marcelo sighed out as he dodged the lightning bolt and playfully elbowed Cristiano in the side, laughing as he spotted an iridescent glow from where the bolt had grazed along Cristiano's arm. He poked at the gash and watched as the archangel winced, wound closing as he set his sights back on to the keeper of the Heaven's gates. "What a bleak day of creation He must have been having when He created Iker. He must’ve created us on another day to make up for that dark one," Marcelo giggled out as the keeper shot him another warning glare, a glare that made Marcelo choke on his chuckles as his features turned to stone. "He might not let us back in, you think?"

Cristiano simply laughed as he easily envisioned Iker not allowing the two of them to pass back through his gate; in Earth time it was only last week that the keeper had nearly destroyed the angel Cristian, one of the fallen. (("How did Cristian survive that?" "Iker destroyed every part of him." "No he didn't, he left his heart." "I didn't think he had a heart." "Perhaps that's what's kept him alive.")) "I can definitely see that happening but he's right, we've wasted enough time gawking at the things. The star's light has already come and gone and we're left with nothing but its reflections now; we've nothing to show for this passage of time. Let's salvage this day and go see what the damage is," he sighed out as he hurled himself to the Earth, groaning at the thought of the dirt of the Earth staining his robe. He had just had them cleansed.

"It's not as bad as we thought it would be...?" Marcelo tried as he surveyed the city of Ur, groaning as the foul smells of waste infused itself into the air and grimacing as the sight of the humans' red blood stained the soil of the earth. He coughed as the smoke permeated the air around him and gave up on the optimistic approach almost as quickly as it had materialized; Ur seemed so different when he wasn’t hovering above it, when he was all but trapped and confined within its walls. The cries of the women being ravaged by the nephilim seemed louder, more desperate but they could not cause interference in His affairs. The fearful screams of children being beaten seemed amplified, shattering and yet they could not cause interference in His affairs. The sobs of the wronged seemed deafening and yet again they could not cause interference in His affairs. "What do you think He'll do?" Marcelo's question was all but whispered but he was certain that the reasoning he had held behind it was loud enough for Cristiano to hear. "When He turns His attention back to this place, to these beings, and sees... this?"

> Genesis 6:6, 11, 12 / "And Jehovah felt regrets that he had made men in the earth, and he felt hurt at his heart. (11) And the earth came to be ruined at the sight of the [true] God and the earth became filled with violence. (12) So God saw the earth and look! it was ruined because all flesh had ruined its way on the earth."

Cristiano simply shook his head as he looked over the wells and houses of mud and stone, as the smell of waste and decay overpowered the smell of soil and water, afraid to answer with what he knew to be truth simply because he had picked up on the fear held within Marcelo's voice. (They're damned). "You worry for him, Marcelo?" The question was more of an observation but he would never tell his companion how he is perceived to feel. Still, he felt pity for his fellow angel. "Come. It is not a sin to look in on him, no?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as Iker's actions and his inability to kill angels with single blows, that was inspired by Book VI of Paradise Lost, this set of particular verses:
> 
> To find himself not matchless, and his pride  
> Humbled by such rebuke, so far beneath  
> His confidence to equal God in power.  
> Yet soon he heal'd; for spirits that live throughout  
> Vital in every part, not as frail as man


	2. Halos and Lightening Bolts

Cristiano groaned as he watched the star appointed to the Earth starting to rise from over the plains and threaded his fingers through his hair in frustration; it wasn’t that Marcelo was taking long, it had been a mere third of the Earth's rotation (eight hours), he was simply impatient, something He had scolded him on often so he decided that now was as good of a time as any to work on it. He searched the city to find other things to preoccupy his mind; already he had made a wobbly man fall to the earth (purely accidental), had watched a child become rescued from a well he had miraculously fallen into (also accidental - humans weren’t sure footed creatures he had learned and perhaps he shouldn’t have made the boy walk around where he had sat at the edge of the well. Mistakes were made), and had watched as a man threw a woman from his home. He and Marcelo had found the very same man lying in a barn with a goat the night before but he wasn’t permitted to interfere so he simply watched as she sobbed, ignorant to the fact that she was replaced by a goat.

He felt someone leaning on him not long after, picked up a strong scent of aging grapes as a man started mumbling in his ear about the woman sobbing on the street in front of him, in front of them. ((“Wha’d she do?”)) Cristiano merely rolled his eyes and ignored the man, unsure if communicating with these disgusting creatures was considered interference. ((“She catch ‘em with that goat again?”)) The angel shoved the man off of his shoulder and continued staring straight ahead of himself, inwardly chuckling at the fact that the man’s guilty goat pleasures were of common knowledge within Ur without ever allowing the stern, straight line of his lips to bend in any direction. He felt the weight against him again. ((“You’re a very big guy.”)) Cristiano furrowed his brow as he discreetly inspected himself, trying to think of where he could have gone wrong as his replication of human life forms had been perfect. He didn’t know how to do things in any other way as there was no other way but perfect for him. ((“You’re probably stronger than those fuckjobs, those, those gigantic dummies.”)) Cristiano allowed himself to smirk a bit as he knew the man was referring to the Nephilim and he couldn’t have come up with a more accurate description of the creatures. His smirk dissolved as the man hiccupped in his ear. ((“Do you build shit? Is that what you do? You build things? Is that why you’re so strong? I build things. I destroy them, too. That’s why I was fired. I’m reckless. That’s what they said.”))

Cristiano opened his mouth to add to the list of things he perceived the intrusive man to be (reckless, destructive, selfish, filthy, repulsing, smelly) but snapped it closed as soon as he caught sight of Marcelo, smiling as he noticed the spark within the other angel’s eye. Marcelo didn’t seem to share the sentiment though, panic setting itself within his features as soon as he found the archangel in wait. It confused him for a moment; he didn’t understand why the guardian was worried, he had trusted him enough not to linger when they had found the home of the one He had called James in the eve before, but he decided that now, in front of the human filled with aged grapes, was not the time to press the issue.

((“Is that your friend? He’s massive, too. I mean, he’s not as big as you but… Does he build shit, too? Is that what you two do? You build things? Is that why you guys are so strong?”)) Marcelo leaned to the side and found the source of the questions, smiling a bit as he found curious, round eyes and thick brown hair. Humans could be such cute creatures sometimes ...but he could tell that this one was wearing Cristiano thin. He knew that Cris didn’t get on well with humans, to the extent that Cris had nearly fallen with the first of the angels into Chaos when the humans were still but a mere whisper in the Heavens, and he feared for the safety of the human if he pressed the archangel any further. He simply shook his head in response, smile deepening as the human studied him curiously, and placed a hand on the shoulder of the irritated being, following the elder out of the outskirts of the city. 

* * *

Iker regarded them both curiously as they approached the gate, eyes burning into Marcelo as Cristiano reported on the ongoings of Ur while asking Iker what he was to do with the information. “Surely it isn’t so bad, Cristiano. Are you sure this is not your disgust for the creatures below speaking, are you sure this is what your eyes have seen and not what you have felt within your heart?” The keeper raised his brows curiously and distractedly threw a bolt to the earth for the hell of it, smirking as he struck the offspring of Xavi and some woman of dirt. He’d be paying for that one later. “He knows you detest them, He knows you have no love in your heart for the humans so if He casts his eyes down and sees that none of the things you are saying…”

“They’re true,” Marcelo interrupted, face marred with the signs of defeat, loss and other things that neither of the two other angels could be bothered to peg. “The earth is ruined and He knows this. We felt His anger as we surveyed the lands, as we roamed the city.” He could feel Iker eyeing him suspiciously but he shrugged him off, hand outstretched regarding the gate and all things that lay beyond it. “May I pass?”

Iker simply stepped aside and watched as the guardian passed through, stretching his arm out to prevent Cristiano from progressing any further. He heard the archangel exhale frustratedly but knew the angel wouldn’t be troublesome, waiting for the figure of the other to disappear from within view. “Explain.”

Cristiano shrugged and shook his head. “I saw nothing and this is the truth. We were surveying the earth from afar before we fell to it, you heard the very nature of our conversation. He was disturbed by what was waiting for us.” He paused as Iker leaned against the gate and listened as the keeper of the Heavens requested further detail. “There was blood everywhere, the city is running rampant with violence - children being beaten, women being ravaged, men lying with animals… The earth is sick. Marcelo, he was, he was concerned for the human. The one He had called James so I suggested we check in on him to ensure his safety if only to make Marcelo well again in his thoughts. He was only with him for a third of the Earth's rotation while I surveyed the rest of the city.”

Iker nodded his head in approval of the explanation and glanced over his shoulder. “He is his Guardian. It is as it should be. Did he lay with him?” He searched for Cristiano’s eyes though the other angel was useless in his answer, reiterating that he had been busy roaming about the earth while Marcelo checked in on James. “I worry for him. If He responds to the ways of the earth, to the way He will deal with them, this will only hurt Marcelo further. It will hurt all of the Guardians. They may feel that they are without purpose, they may fall... If Marcelo hasn't fallen already.” He sighed as Cristiano nodded his head in agreement and pointed past the gate, in a way opposite of the way Marcelo had taken. “Go, you must tell Him yourself.”

> Genesis 6:5, 7 / (5) Consequently Jehovah saw that the badness of man was abundant in the earth and every inclination of the thoughts of his heart was only bad all the time, (7) So Jehovah said: “I am going to wipe men whom I have created off the surface of the ground, from man to domestic animal, to moving animal to flying creature of the heavens, because I do regret that I have made them.

Cristiano felt heavy within his heart as he descended from His place of worship, not for man but for his brothers in spirit, knowing very well what man meant to the Guardians, knowing very well that they'd be losing it all within a matter of moments. He found every distraction possible as he made his way back to his keep as avoiding Marcelo became a priority: helping Toni with the scrolls of instruction, carrying bolts of lightening to the keeper of the gates for Lucas, organizing the boxes of halos for the guardians who still used those kinds of relics at the side of Dani before he ran out of angels to help. He tossed the robes he had worn to the earth into the fires of the forge, the blackened, once-white fabric was even beyond the saving graces of divine power, trading them for his leather bindings with a relieved sigh as the weight of the earth fell from him. ((“Let me sharpen the blades of your wings before you go”)) Pepe had offered and Cristiano had accepted, outstretching his bladed wings of ebony so the other could sharpen them within the forge of hell fire as he thought of ways to best approach the guardian.

Truly out of distractions, Cristiano made his way down the Hall of the Guardians and started searching for Marcelo within his keep, sighing defeatedly as he found the angel on the outlook, eyes cast down upon the earth. He opened his mouth to speak but Marcelo’s word found his ears before he had ever found his words...

“I already know.” He had felt it within his gut immediately, had already felt the one called James die though he still roved about the earth below him. “I just… Look,” he laughed out though the joy within the laugh was absent, “look there,” he asked though his sight had been made blurry by way of tears.

Cristiano cast his eyes down towards the earth and found the object of Marcelo’s attention, a human with brown hair and with foreign marks engraved into his skin. He was lying in the dirt flailing his arms and legs about, creating a circle of sorts around himself; he seemed to be absolutely mental. Cristiano absently cast his eyes down to his own marks, marks that pledged his allegiance to Him and not to the Other, and shook his head dismissively as the memory of that day befell him. “Him? The one He has called Sergio?” Cristiano remembered his creation with ease, had actually smiled when He had given him those lips and those eyes. He had been the rich soil within a desert when it came to the life forms of dirt and Cristiano had always favored him in silence. “Why does he amuse you?”

“Does he build shit, too? Is that what you two do? You build things? Is that why you guys are so strong?” Marcelo laughed out as mimicked the words of the man filled with aged grapes, the joy returning to his voice as he watched Cristiano's eyes widen in realization. “He’s not well, it seems. Lost. We should help him.”

Cristiano nodded his head in agreement and turned on his heels, heading out of the Hall of the Guardians. (“Where are you going?” “I’m going to see if Iker will let me toss one of those lightning bolts.” “That is not what I meant.” “Oh, you want to grab one of your fucking halos and give that human a hug then? Tell him that He loves him even though we both know that’s Nephilim shit. Is that it?” “I will never understand your logic.” “At least my ways are logical.”)


	3. Beautiful Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is harder to watch a beautiful thing suffer."

The sun was hanging high in the middle of the sky and the air around him: dry and still, voiceless and empty. Still. He liked still. Particularly as only the things around him seemed to be so as he was rattled by a chaos from within: his thoughts were racing, his emotions wavering between the extremes like static and he’d give anything in the world to make them stop. If only he had something left to give, anything… Released and out of work for being reckless, put out of his home as his wife replaced him with a being twice his size with twice his strength, fresh out of his means as he had just poured the last of yesterday’s wage down his throat, and completely out of reasons to go on, he simply laid his body against the earth, flailing his arms and legs about because why not.

He stopped within a moment’s time though, felt eyes on him as he sat up and as he looked around, but he found no one. A chill crept up his spine and he shivered despite the intense heat bearing down on him from the sun. He blamed the aged grapes for his paranoia as he eventually found his feet and he staggered off, creating more of a distance between himself and the city of Ur; there was nothing left for him there. He stopped walking almost as soon as he had started though; there would be nothing for him in Canaan nor anywhere else for that matter. He cast his eyes towards the piles of rock that seemed to reach for the heavens and sighed in defeat, awareness, perhaps conviction. Who knew.

“There is nothing for you up there. If you rise up the side of that earth you will surely fall and if you fall from there, you will never rise again. You can rise from this fall of yours but you cannot rise from that one,” a voice quietly warned from behind him.

Sergio spun on his heels and jumped back a bit in surprise but smiled as he easily recognized the face from earlier that day. It was an impossible face to forget as he and his companion were perhaps two of the most beautiful men he had ever seen (though part of him couldn't be sure if they were men at all). They were large like the Nephilim, larger even, and the other was almost as harsh as them in the way he seemed to have carried himself… And they seemed to materialize out of thin air, he observed as he looked beyond the figure and found no footprints engraved into the face of the earth, no marks of the man (or not man)'s coming. He couldn't be bothered to ask, couldn't be bothered to care because in the end it didn't matter if they were man, Nephilim, or even Seraphim because he knew what he was and that, that was what afflicted him. The being smiled though, lips pulled back tightly showing teeth with such a radiance that seemed to dull the Earth’s star, galaxies in his eyes as he beamed before him and he couldn't help but feel light in his mere presence. That only infuriated him further. “How can you be so happy in the midst of all…” he stretched his hand out towards the city of Ur and shook his head in disapproval, “of all of this? It is because of this that I have nothing. It is because of this that I have become nothing.”

> Cristiano stood at Iker’s side and watched as Marcelo dealt with the human and scoffed. “I told you he was miserable, Iker. He wishes for death and I merely wanted to deliver it to him.” “His life isn’t for you nor him to take, his life is His.” “...and He intends to take it anyway from all but one. I was merely expediting His wishes. It is cruel to make them suffer in vain like this.” "Since when do you deal with the humans in a compassionate manner?" "It is harder to watch a beautiful thing suffer."

“You have your life,” ((though I know not for how long you will have it for)), “you have your health. You can see all of the beautiful creations He has blessed us with. You can feel the wind, the earth, the heat. You can feel love, you can feel joy... You have more than you believe you have,” Marcelo tried though he could easily see the man growing tired of the conversation.

“I have and I feel the hatred of Cain when I see my wife retreating into what was once our home with that savage creature,” Sergio chuckled out as he started ascending up the side of the mountain, sensing the strange other following him in his trek. “I see the Nephilim, I see the ability He has in His creations and I wonder what kind of sickness must have befell Him when He chose to create man. He created us weak but gave us the ability to feel things that exceed our power. He created us mortal and of the earth and yet He surrounds us with immortals of light and fire. May He do me the favor of striking me down for my blasphemies, may He smite me where I stand but He, but God is sick.”

> Iker chuckled but shook his head at the blasphemies of the man and pointed his gaze in Cristiano’s direction. “He reminds me of you,” the gatekeeper observed as he saw the crinkles forming in the corners of the archangel's eyes. “Why is it that the most beautiful of creations seem to be the most blasphemous?"
> 
> Cristiano didn’t know what it was about the human, about the one He had called Sergio but as his words befell his ears he couldn’t help but smile. This one seemed to know his limitations, this one seemed to be aware of how small he truly was, like a grain of the sand of the earth, how purposeless he would truly be in the grand spectrum of things… He didn’t seem to have fallen for the grandiose displays of light and earth, for the various lifeforms of dirt and water, and he didn't seem willing enough to be a vessel for His entertainment. His honesty, his ability to see his creation for what it was; something about this man consumed him, spoke to him. “That would explain why you conduct yourself with such reverence, Iker.”

Marcelo watched as the man struggled up the side of the mountain and followed in the place of his footsteps with ease, trying to figure out how to best get through to the man without deceiving him. Death was looming in, not only this man’s near future, but in the futures of nearly all of the creation that roamed about the earth and postponing the inevitable seemed a bit mundane to him. How could he tell this man that He loved him when He Himself had confessed that he regretted the very creation of man? How could he tell this man that there was more to life than what was happening to him when, in truth, there was not hence His regrets? How could he convince a man to choose to live when his life would be taken from him before he would ever get the chance? This man would be lying lifeless within the earth within a matter of moments; what is one day if this man's tomorrow holds the same abysmal fate? Defeated he followed the man in silence. Defeated he stood alongside him at the top of the raised earth, staring out across the sunlit valleys of His creation in silence. Defeated he watched as the man’s eyes fell empty, reverential awe gone as a forsaken look of affliction took residency upon the man's features. The man was lost and all the guardian could do was helplessly watch as the man found his way, as he fell off the side of the earth...

> ...helplessly watch as he fell from the outskirts of the Heaven’s gates. 

He had never been his to protect.


	4. The Deception of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am not like you, Cris. It is not the humans that I detest. Something so weak could never pull me down from the Heavens.”  
> \-----  
> He wanted them blind. Their freedom: a construct of the mind and nothing more as He was found to be a God of hypocrisy and inconsistency. A God who gave options to mankind and called it "free-will" but hidden within the options, only one right choice with fatal consequence if man should choose wrong. Such was the imperfection of God. The deception of God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the chapters that will condemn me to hell. Meet Leo! 
> 
> **RELIGIOUS PHILOSOPHY TRIGGER WARNING** : Very disagreeable content.

Fire. Everywhere. Within. Surrounding him. Consuming him …and yet he felt nothing but loss as he surveyed the areas around him. Spirits grounded by lost happiness, tormented with the lasting pain. Affliction in their eyes, dismay in their stance, obdurate pride in the bodies of some, nothing but steadfast, unwavering hatred in those of others. Doubt within him. Valleys and expanses of darkness before him, his eyes longing for the purity of the light. Regret. And yet he showed none. None as the ugly creatures inhabited the earth, none as the Other drew them in, none as they disobeyed Him of their own free will. None as they fell. No, they were allowed to fall, the pathetic creatures. They were allowed to choose to disobey Him at such a small price of death, eternal nothingness. He glanced down, seeing shackles and chains around his ankles but not, feeling a weight against his wings and yet nothing was there as he searched, smelling his burning body and yet he remained whole. They were allowed to fall and he hated them for it...

...but he masked it well. He smiled wickedly when one of the Fallen approached him, laughed maniacally when one of the dirt and water creatures stumbled, and even travelled upwards to whisper in their ear on occasion. To persuade them. Dissuade them. To convince them to seize the free will that they were given. To seize the free will that he was not afforded. To balance the scale in the very sight of the unjust God that ruled them all. So protective of His little ant-farm He was. 

He was to rise to their beloved land of Canaan that day, a land that worshipped the Fallen and spit on the Seraphim with disgust. A beautiful land filled with all the things He detested. A testament to the mistake He had called man. A testament that He, too, was imperfect and should stand judged. Why else were the humans so flawed? Made in His image they were. Seized knowledge of right and wrong, choices before them and yet they always chose wrong. Humans: the only creation with a moral compass, the only creation to stand judged... A lie as able they were, able they fell because God had been wrong; angels fell because angels chose, fell at the hand of His judgement into this dark etherworld of Chaos. A being acclaimed to be perfect: wrong. Casting angels from Heaven when they rose and questioned Him, when they questioned His reason? An intolerant being He is. Casting His favored creation from their filthy Paradise when they chose wisdom over Him? The vile creatures weren’t supposed to know any better, were forbidden from knowing who to believe – a voice from the sky or a whispering serpent – and yet He judges them for not, casts them into pain and famine for using the free-will he had given them and choosing wrong. Right. Wrong. They didn't know until the fruit had been devoured. He had wanted them blind. Their freedom: a construct of the mind and nothing more as He was found to be a God of hypocrisy and inconsistency. A God who gave options to mankind and called it "free-will" but hidden within the options, only one right choice with fatal consequence if man should choose wrong. Such was the imperfection of God. The deception of God.

Leo rubbed at the back of his neck and regarded Cristian as the Fallen angel approached him, smiling as the once Guardian twirled in his dirty robe, once white, made filthy by the dirt of the earth. The dirt that moved and laughed, that cried and bled colors of red. “I heard the wrath of Iker not so long ago,” Leo started as he tightened the straps of his leather garments, “you didn’t dare.”

“Of course, I did,” Cristian whispered as he neared the Fallen archangel, eyes filled with wonder as the other angel still held himself with as much reverence as he had been regarded in in the Heavens above not so long ago despite their abysmal atmosphere, in spite of their abysmal atmosphere. “This place is depressing and…”

He sensed it before he heard it, felt it before he saw it, and he couldn’t do anything to hide the smile that started forming against his features as soon as the earth announced it. He had always known that this day would come, that he would be falling from the skies, falling from His grace within a matter of time. He knew that there was only so much that the archangel could take, knew that the other could endure the scourge of the virus that plagued the earth only for so long. Never mind that today was sooner than he had ever anticipated. Never mind that his memories of their time together were tainted by the pains of the war, by the pains of Chaos rising against the Heavens and watching him leave his side to stand by His. No, none of that mattered now. The day had finally come. 

His thoughts returned from above and he saw that Cristian was still speaking. “What is that?” “Oh, I thought you already knew.” “Knew what?” “There are whispers of His discontent.” “He is eternal and yet a child. When has He ever been content but when all of creation thoughtlessly bowed before Him?” “I have only heard whispers of His anger, nothing more.” “Then I’m sure he’ll tell us.” “Who?”

* * *

The earth had become bigger so quickly, had grown before him as he fell and suddenly, suddenly it seemed so small beneath him. Looked as meaningless as he was, as he felt beneath all of His entities of infinite power. He felt something, someone pressed up behind him, arms wrapping around him but he couldn’t be bothered to wonder what or who held him. An angel falling at God’s command to extend His mercy, to show that he cared about his mediocrity and to bring him to the Heaven’s gates? No. Such a thing was unheard of. Creators simply don’t award creations for self-destructing, for throwing a white flag in the middle of their game. Suppose he was in the arms of one of the Fallen, an angel sent to retrieve him at the command of Lucifer, himself? His own private escort to entryway of Chaos? Laughable, it was. No creation hated humans more than the Fallen. Dirt held no place in the purity of the Heavens nor within the immortals of Hell... He knew as much. Unworthy of being raised, unworthy of sinking below.

He felt his stomach churn and he heard words coming from behind him, words in a language he had never heard whispered before. Regardless, dirt was meant to stay on the earth, to neither rise above it nor fall too far beneath it and his mortal body knew as much as he felt it protest against the sudden flight. “Drop me,” he pleaded and he heard a chuckle coming from behind him. (Surely, this creature must be of the Fallen), he thought as he sensed the desire to do just that –drop him – surging through the creature. “Please, return me to the earth! I’m unworthy of being held by such a creature! Let dirt be with dirt.”

…and suddenly the earth seemed large again and the contents of his stomach were emptied against it. He heard a sound of disgust come from the creature behind him, felt himself being carelessly thrown against the soil and rock, discarded and, though he wanted to protest, he saw no reason to vocalize his displeasure because he wanted death, wanted not to feel. Pain meant nothing to him at this point. Nothing held any kind of meaning to him. He couldn’t blame the creature either way. How was such a being supposed to understand his weakness?

The shadow cast over him was as large as anything he’d ever seen, cast a shape that assured him that he was right in his earlier assumptions, that the creature was either Seraphim or of the Fallen. Behavior of the creature thus far accounted for: definitely one of Lucifer’s Legion. He felt his bones starting to tremble, the muscles attached to them quivering; never had he experienced such fear, never had he been made to feel so weak and worthless under the gaze of an immortal. He heard the odd language again, the one that fell empty of meaning against his ears and he didn’t want to hear it anymore, didn’t want to feel this fear again, this worthlessness, this weakness… He prayed for death but he knew, knew that one of the Legion would love nothing more than for suffering to befall him. Surely that is why the Fallen being had saved him. The lost language came again, quicker, and the shadow grew larger. He felt himself being lifted from the earth again, cast towards the higher rocks, and then the shadow was gone.

* * *

 

Cristiano threw the human to the side as soon as he felt the earth beneath his feet and tried to shake the feeling of it from his hands. It was a weird being; a squishy, wiggling flesh bag of water and he didn’t care much for the feeling of it. It even felt weak and frail, fragile and made to be broken beneath strong touches. He liked this one, the one He had called Sergio, better from a distance he had decided rather quickly and he had ruled himself a fool for doing so. He had glared at him, prepared to curse the being, the thing, this man’s existence (and himself for salvaging it) and even cure him from his affliction of life but the winds had changed rapidly. He threw his gaze up towards the heavens, catching the clouds rolling above the land of Canaan as their dark shadows cast themselves over the mountains on approach. Iker was preparing his myriads for a silent battle of their own which only meant one thing: the Fallen had arisen to go about swaying the weak minds of the dirt creatures.

One shadow lingered. One shadow grew smaller just before growing larger, bouts of thunder with each respite and growth of the figure. Cristiano drew his sword from its sheath and briefly turned his attentions back on the Sergio human. “You there,” he commanded towards the dirt-being that was lying against the dirt of the earth on his face, “conceal yourself and do so quickly.” He frowned when the human failed to take heed and approached the dull creature, lifting him from his rightful position against the earth ((they blended so well, dirt with dirt)) and tossing him towards the cover of the mountains. When he could no longer see the detested thing, he slowly drew closer to the shadow, drawing in a breath…

The shadow grew into a being as massive as Cristiano, a being as commandeering as Cristiano… but this being, it smiled quite unlike Cristiano of whom held a blade to the other’s neck. Leo couldn’t help it as he saw the blades of the archangel’s wings rattling against one another, the leather binds of his garments clinging tightly against his body, and he checked over his shoulder, ensuring that Gerard and Cristian had truly gone off into the city of Canaan to whisper into the ears of its inhabitants. Not that they needed much more encouragement. “I knew it would only be a matter of time before you joined us, Cris,” he chuckled as he shoved the blade of the other’s sword away with a finger, smile deepening as Cristiano returned the sword to its sheath without hesitation. “I must admit, I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon after the war,” Leo continued as he made his way over to a boulder and fell against it. “So tell me, Cris. What are these whispers of discontent I’ve heard so much of? Have things really soured so pitifully since our fall?”

Cristiano chuckled and turned to face the Fallen archangel, eyes checking the blades of the others wings, his features for any signs of regret and yet he found none. He had missed Leo more than he could ever admit in the Heavens, was happy to see his friend as he and Leo… There were no other two made as they were, carved and sculpted from the same mold on the same day of creation, lifted into His most exalted of positions. “Would it disappoint you to hear that you fell for nothing?” “I am not like you, Cris. It is not the humans that I detest. Something so weak could never pull me down from the Heavens.” “He’s meant to do away with them all. To bury them in the very things they are made from. Earth and water.” “And this is why you fell? That He deals with his mistakes by wiping them away, pretending as if they have never happened? If they see the flaw in what He has given them, like a child He takes it back.” “I was not created to pass judgement…” “…and yet here you are. Being judged by a God who can act faultless simply because he erases His mistakes and yet, you and I, we’re only given permanent ink. Who is He to judge?” “I cannot discuss this.”

“I thought you fell,” Leo started as his eyes roamed the body of the archangel in full, eyes widening as he caught sight of the holy marks still embedded within the body of the archangel, “…unless you didn’t fall.” He couldn’t mask the disappointment he felt and he couldn’t help but wonder… “Why are you here then, Cristiano? Why are you here in this form and why did the Heavens crack when you fell to the earth?” He couldn’t suppress his laughter of disbelief, of disappointment. “I’ve seen you here, many times. In the form of man. You may not look as disgusting and ugly as they are but I know you. I know what that does to you. You let Him demoralise you in such ways? Use you like a puppet to check on His little projects? Why are you…?” He trailed as he heard dirt rubbing against rock not so far off, felt an inferior presence nearby and turned his attentions towards it, head tilted to the side awaiting an explanation. “That is a human, is it not?” “It was not my choice.” “Nothing ever is, is it? You’re still nothing more than a slave to a fickle God.” "I am not the one in chains, Lionel." "Aren't you, though?"

 

 


	5. Strings and Other Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, Dickie Jones wasn't alive at the time of the Great Deluge but let's assume that his song "I've Got No Strings" was inspired by Lucifer and His Legion. It makes sense. That song is the devil once it gets stuck in your head.

…and the marks of the holy felt weighted against his arms, the eyes of the Heavens and of Chaos as the myriads above and the legions below seemed to be watching them in fervent anticipation. A fire burned from within him, a fire fueled by Leo’s self-satisfied smirk and there isn't a thing he'd love to do more - neither in Heaven nor in Chaos - than wipe that smirk off of Leo’s face. He hated that Leo knew exactly how to riddle his every nerve but even more, even more he hated that there was nothing he was allowed to do about it. Allowed. The word bothered him. “You think me weak?” The tone of his voice would usually be enough to pull a retraction or an apology of sorts from whomever happened to have made the mistake of challenging him, his stare enough to send either Seraph or Fallen, Guardian or less, spirit of any stature in full retreat. Usually.

Leo smirked as Cristiano’s agitation reached him, as his thoughts and desires were seemingly put on full display before him. He merely held up his hands as if playing with a puppet. “I think that without Him feeding you commands, little puppet, without Him you are little more than a rag doll.” He laughed as a look of humored disbelief etched the features of the Seraph, as the four wings of God’s right hand expanded putting every one of tens of thousands of piercing ebony scales on display. He laughed a laugh that echoed throughout the Heavens, a laugh that reached the depths of Chaos as he had found his proof, as the Seraph had given Him his proof; Cristiano didn’t belong at His side, he belonged at his. “I’ve got no strings, to hold me down…” He let his hand fall against the hilt of his sword, smiled as he found the archangel tempted to draw his own. “…to make me fret, or make me frown…” His eyes twinkled as the sound of the metal of his sword grinding against its sheath reached his ears, as the Seraph fell prey to his own temptations. “I had strings but now I’m free…” He had sensed the human as Cristiano had dwelled within his taunts, had seen him edging his way towards them from where he had hidden or had been hidden before Cristiano had ever spoken... “I’ve got no strings on me” …and before Cristiano could so much as flinch, he was standing directly in front of the bag of dirt, his raised sword falling swiftly from above the pathetic little beast.

Sergio had closed his eyes as soon as the creature’s shadow had come bearing down on him, had braced himself for something, for anything but had found himself with nothing as moments, minutes passed. A strange voice. That same, strange tongue fell against his ears. ((“Why did he not begin to pray to his God? Is this creature defective?”)) He shuddered as the strange voice fell on his ears and dared himself to open his eyes, immediately regretting having done so. It was hideous. They were hideous. ((“He suffers. He blames God and His curse of life.”)) Fear. He was overwhelmed by the greatest sense of fear and yet he couldn’t explain why. He wanted death. If not death, what is there to fear? The one holding the sword that still hung above his head had started laughing. There’s nothing warm about it, nothing warm in any of his eyes and he had known within that moment that this one hadn’t been the one to swoop him from the air. This one would have let him fall. Another shudder crept up his spine. ((“Let me guess: he has to wait for Him to tell him when to die? Inform Him that free will doesn’t mean what He seems to think it means.")) He knew he should have averted his gaze, that he should have looked away and yet he found the task to be something of an impossibility. The other looked much similar to the one with the drawn sword, similar and yet he held his differences. There were markings on him, for one, and there seemed to be an agitated kindness in his eyes. ((“I think we’re scaring him.”)) He passed out as the greatest sense of fear became even greater, as it became too great.

-

They took turns smacking the human back into consciousness and if Iker dared to accuse him of taking too much pleasure in doing so, he’d probably agree with the keeper of the gates (to disagree would be a lie and Cristiano simply could not). He rolled his eyes as those of the one called Sergio fluttered open and found Leo’s face covered in a grin that he knew to be mischievous and utterly problematic. The human didn’t seem to know any better though. ((“You… You… You look like me?” “Fuck, I hope not.”)) He smiled as the inferior tongue reached him, glanced around the waste of the desert and tried to figure out what He had intended for him to do from here. It came to him in a gentle breeze but he hated the answer. He doesn’t want to be with the earth for any longer than he needed to be but the winds were firm (stay, stay, stay). If it had been said once, it would have been negotiable, but three times…? ((“I can, I can understand you?” “I don’t know. Can you?”)) He knew he should intervene, should prevent Leo from speaking with the Sergio human but he’d intervened enough for one day. He’s tired of intervening and besides, Leo couldn’t convince him into doing anything he hadn’t already done or tried to do. ((“Oh my God, you have wings…” “Oh your God, I do. How did that happen?”)) He watched as the human marveled over Leo’s third transformation and he allowed himself another smile; they were such simple creatures. ((“Am I as hideous as you yet?”)) He felt the eyes of the one called Sergio on him but he wasn’t bothered enough to look up, not even when the inferior being had started to address him.

“You… You saved me.” He paused and waited for the other creature to react, noted that he no longer had his wings on display either, that his face had transformed into something familiar, into something beautiful, and that the ink that had once covered his arm had vanished. He waited but nothing. “I remember you from the square. You and your friend. Not him,” he clarified pointing to the other, the one that was sitting too close to him and smiling a little too eagerly, “but the, the other one.” All too suddenly, he remembered something else, something more than a face. He looked back at the one whose eyes were too bright. “You tried to kill me.”

“No. You tried to kill you. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be buried in the sands of the desert by now, returning back to your natural state.” He picked up some of the sand and sprinkled it over human flesh, smiled as round eyes grew ever rounder. “You’re not afraid of death though. You’re afraid of life and I find it interesting that He’d rather you suffer than allow you the choice of when and how you will die.” He stifled a laugh as the human eyes left his form to find Cristiano’s. “I’m fairly confident that Cris could care less over whether you live or die. He doesn’t meddle in the affairs of who lives and who dies; it’s above his pay-grade,” he pointed upwards as the curious eyes found his form once more, “but that asshole, He’s kind of a stickler for His rules. The only problem is, He’s the only one who knows the rules and He tends to make and break them as He goes along. I don’t think that’s fair so I simply don’t play His game anymore...” He became distracted as Cristiano’s disapproving look found him and he smiled that smile. “I’ve got no strings, so I have fun. I’m not tied up to anyone.” His grin grew as he sensed the fear of the human growing ever more, as he sensed Cristiano’s agitation on the rise once more. “They’ve got strings but you can see..

...I’ve got no strings on me.”

((You have no strings, your arms is free ~~to love me by the Zuiderzee. Ya, ya, ya.~~ If you would woo, I'd bust my strings for you))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've Got No Strings" by Dickie Jones // if you didn't read those lines in a sing-song voice, you read them wrong.


End file.
